Bum Luck
by Sunni D. Lockhart
Summary: Bakura Akiefa's luck has run out, and the annual Christmas blizzard is worse than ever before. Christmas seems lost, unless it turns out that a Rose can bloom even in the snow...


_**Bum Luck **_

_Stories of the Day_

_Singing out the lead_

_Nothing much to say_

_Just a lot to read_

_Should I tell my tale?_

_Will you play a part?_

_Knowing it's for sale,_

_Buy it with your heart._

"Oy! Clear off ya filthy strumpet!" A shove and crash and the gentlemen in question found him sprawled upon the icy sidewalk outside a restaurant.

"Don't you think of trying to stiff the bill here again, bub!" A disgruntled waiter shouted at the pale-grey haired vagrant.

He grinned, "Don't pop your pipes Mac, just call a cop and DON'T keep a gentleman waiting," He brushed the snow off the shoulders of his weather-beaten, thinning coat. Bakura Akeifa was the man's name. A gentleman of leisure, he liked to call himself, who had taken it upon himself to get thrown in jail every 24th of December to avoid the annual blizzard sure to come. One might ask him, 'What was wrong with the Charity Flop-House?' he would answer, 'Every bed of Charity has its bath, my friend.'

A female waitress exited the restaurant and cast her distasteful, pitying eyes on Bakura, "Aww, poor fella, it's Christmas Eve…We ought a let him go." Bakura couldn't believe what he was hearing.

The male waiter backed off, giving it a think, "Maybe you're right…"

Bakura leapt up from his positing on the street, "No! She's wrong!" Smiling to themselves, the two reentered the eating establishment with the ill-informed belief that they were spreading Christmas Cheer.

All day long the poor bum had been trying and failing to get himself picked up by the fellas in blue, but no one seemed to be in the right mood to throw a man in jail on Christmas Eve. Bloody New York City, always inconsistent with its strand of morals.

The temperature dropped several degrees as the bum stood shivering on the sidewalk. The snow seemed to increase as well, along with the number of last minute shoppers bustling, scurrying, and swaggering by. Each thinking the city was his and his alone. Bakura straitened up, pulling the hem of his coat, "Desperate times call for desperate measures, and I'm one desperate bum!"

A middle aged woman clutching a shopping bag to her chest walked leisurely by. Bakura spotted his window of opportunity. He quickly sidled up to her, walking casually before dipping his fingers into her coat pocket and yanking free her wallet. Flabbergasted, she harried after him, "Hey! What do you think you're doing?!"

He waved the thin strip of leather in front of her tauntingly, "What's it look like? I pinched your wallet, lady. Now hurry up, turn me in, there's a cop around the next corner." He tried to pull her towards the corner, but she broke away.

"Well, there's only a few dollars in there anyway…You look like you could use some food, "She said, eyeing his filthy appearance, "Merry Christmas!" She hurried away.

He sighed, shuffling a snow bank with the tip of his holey shoe. "Bloody weather," he growled, scowling at the frozen mess upon his foot. "Curse my good fortune. Nearly nine o'clock and not a single offense sustained. Getting colder too…bloody weather."

With not a place to go and the crowd steadily thinning, Bakura had all but given up on trying to get arrested. He wandered the streets with a dejected sadness about him, fumbling his skinny fingers in his downy coat pockets

_Pockets_

_Nothing in my Pockets_

_No, there's nothing up my sleeve_

_And _my_ tongue can't find my cheek_

_Not a joke in my head_

Bakura wheezed a sickly sounding cough into his bare, numbing palm. It was cold, and it was dark and the streets were nearly empty. He passed warmly lit houses with children pressing their hushed Christmas wishes into their pillows.

_Children_

_Always there are children_

_Sharing secrets in the dark, _

_Scratching hearts upon the bark _

_On a tree in the park_

Some Christmas eve this was turning out to be. He had no family with which to celebrate, no friends, not a single living thing with which to celebrate the birth of a child he wasn't even sure he believed in.

_So you wear a smile, and you don't complain_

_Every stroke of luck is a stroke of pain_

_Got nobody else here to take the blame_

_So, if that's bum luck…_

_I'm a lucky bum_

Music. There was singing nearby. He could hear. He forced his stiff legs to pick up the pace; rushing towards the only comfort he was sure he would have on what might be his last Christmas, the way the weather was declining. A Monastery was the source of the music. An order of cloistered monks had taken up an order there. Peering inside the window, Bakura saw a choir of white robed monks singing cheerfully.

Despite the air quickly chapping his lips, he grinned.

_O come, O come Emanuel _

_And Ransom captive Israel_

The thief tucked himself into a corner of the building, wrapping his thin coat around his sunken chest. He dropped his head against the bricks allowing the music to soothe his frayed nerves.

_That mourns in lonely exile here_

_Until the Son of God Appear_

"Perhaps," he thought, "It wouldn't be too bad to die here, would it?" he snickered humorlessly. "At least the music's nice…"

_Rejoice, Rejoice_

_Emanuel, Shall come to thee_

_O Israel_

The bitter wind whipped furiously as his face, eager to hurry the process along. He shuddered once more before sliding his dark eyes closed.

The last sound he heard was a tiny gasp like the hushed coo of a dove.

_Morning_

_Don't you love the morning?_

_Quiet whispers on the breeze_

_Setting all the world at ease_

_With its tender breathe_

Warmth was spreading through his torso. He awoke slowly, taking in his very different surroundings. Gone was the frozen sidewalk, his tattered coat, his hole ridden shoes. He was wrapped in linen sheets, and clothed in soft sweats. A heating pad rested right below his chin.

Light streamed in through a window above the miniscule bed in which he lay. The room around him was bare aside from a desk and dresser. He pushed aside the covers and crossed the room to exit. A long narrow hallway stretched out to a large Sanctuary. The Church was decorated immensely with holly, ivy, wreaths, and bright red ribbons all across each wall and pew.

Scented candles of vanilla and cinnamon wafted amongst the scent of the incense burning on the altar.

White robbed monks sat underneath a Christmas tree, others around the pews. 'Right…the monastery.'

Among the throng, one monk in particular stood out to him. A young boy, perhaps 15 or 16 years of age, with a snowy locks clipped just below his shoulders. He turned to him, along with several other monks, but was the only one who approached him.

The boy flung himself at Bakura, embracing him tightly, kissing both his cheeks. Bright doe eyes blinked innocently at him in shades of burgundy.

Once he had withdrawn, Bakura asked, "Did you bring me here?"

The boy nodded, still holding that cheeky smile upon his lips.

An older monk approached them, yanking the child back from him, "Brother Ryou! You ought to be ashamed startling the poor man that way, "he chastised, causing Ryou to shrink back.

"I apologize for Brother Ryou, he's still a novice. Even though he broke his sacred vow of seclusion by stepping outside the gates to rescue you, it is a very good thing he did. I'm afraid you were very near death out in the blizzard." He spoke evenly.

_Lo how a rose e'er blooming_

_From tender stem hath sprung_

After he had been invited to stay for the duration of their Christmas celebration, he sat to listen to the choirs caroling. Ryou sat beside him and held his hand affectionately. He looked upon the child's face, glowing with all the lovely beauty of a child on Christmas morning.

_It came, a flow 'ret bright _

_Amid the cold of winter_

_When half spent was the night._

Bakura smiled back at him, squeezing his hand gently, "Thank you, Ryou, for helping me."

Ryou turned to reach into his belt loop, and produced a candy cane. He handed it to Bakura, still smiling sweetly, and mouthed 'Merry Christmas' before scurrying away to the Christmas tree to pray.

_This flower, whose fragrance tender_

_With sweetness fills the air_

_Dispels with glorious splendor_

_The Darkness everywhere_

As he carefully peeled away the plastic wrapper from the candy, he couldn't help but reflect on all these strange events. Maybe, he thought, it wasn't so bad that he couldn't get thrown in jail. Maybe it was a sign, a bright beacon of opportunity for Bakura Akeifa.

Just think of it, he thought, Bakura Akeifa, a somebody in this world. A somebody with a real job, and a roof over his head.

He looked at Ryou as he popped his candy cane in his mouth, "A Merry Christmas it turned out to be after all."

**A/N: **I hope you enjoyed this Christmas short. In all honesty, I wrote this for Mysia Ri, who gave me the inspiration to write a Christmas story. I'm hoping you'll be able to fill in the parts of the story without much explanation yourself, but there is one point I must clarify.

No, Ryou didn't have any dialogue. Why? Because Ryou is a Silent Monk (this is symbolic). I didn't want to litter the story with lots of awkwardly written explanations for things, like why Bakura is homeless. I assume you can figure that out though.

Alright, in order, here are the songs that I used that I don't own

O Come, O Come Emanuel

Lo how a Rose e'er Blooming

However, several of the songs I DID write, and they are as listed:

Pockets

Bum Luck

Mornings

Merry Christmas! Send Questions!


End file.
